Shadows of Death
by Rae666
Summary: If the nightmares or recent deaths in town weren't enough, Stiles wakes up to find that he may actually be the latest victim of the newest serial killer to hit Beacon Hills. Stuck somewhere between life and death and with Lydia the only one who can see him, the gang have to work quickly before Stiles' temporary displacement becomes permanent.
1. Chapter 1

******Shadows of Death**

_Summary: If the nightmares or recent deaths in town weren't enough, Stiles wakes up to find that he may actually be the latest victim of the newest serial killer to hit Beacon Hills. Stuck somewhere between life and death and with Lydia the only one who can see him, the gang have to work quickly before Stiles' temporary displacement becomes permanent.  
_

_Warning: Spoilers for pretty much all of season 3.  
_

_Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own the show or these characters. _

_A/N: Firstly, this takes places somewhere around season 3b... secondly, because of the content of this fic, there will still be spoilers for later eps.  
_

_I'm hoping I can update this one pretty frequently. Ideally, I'd like to finish it before the end of the current season, but given how close we are to that end, I doubt that'll happen, but when I do finish it, I will then hopefully be able to start work on another lengthy Sterek fic because I miss writing Sterek and unfortunately I haven't found anyway to write Sterek into this particular fic yet (and I really wanna see how the rest of this season plays out before I start writing another Sterek fic)._

* * *

_Now I lay me down to sleep,_

_I pray the Lord my soul to keep,_

_And if I die before I wake,_

_I pray the Lord my soul to take..._

Chapter 1

Nightmares were a regular occurrence for Stiles these days. He was no stranger to the suffocating darkness that would smother him nightly, or the deep chill that settled in at his very core as if he had been submerged in icy waters for hours on end. The tightening chest, the struggle for breath, and the desperate gasps for air in an endless vacuum of shadows; they were just part and parcel of the dreams that haunted Stiles on a daily basis.

The pain tearing through his left shoulder, that was new.

It ripped through him and woke him better than any alarm had ever been able to. He shot upwards, heart hammering in his chest and hands clammy as they automatically went to his shoulder. Shaking fingers raked across the fabric of his shirt, his gaze dropping down in search of blood or rips in his clothing that would explain the phantom pain that still lingered, as if expecting to find the nightmare wound was real, or worse – that the weapon causing it still pierced his flesh.

"It's not real, Stiles," he berated himself before scrubbing his hands over his face and up through his hair where they lingered, fingers entwined with the longer strands in a desperate attempt to cling onto something. "It was a dream. Just a dream..."

But such words had long since lost their effect on him. No matter how many times he said them, doubt still settled beneath them. It was easier to say that something was or wasn't real than it was to believe it. Telling reality apart from fantasy, trying to figure out when he was awake or when he was dreaming, that had become the true nightmare as of late.

Pushing the thoughts from his still muddy mind, he glanced around his room, taking it in in an effort to distract himself. It was still and serene, dust dancing in the sunlight that slipped through his slightly open window, a gentle breeze causing the specks to twist and twirl whilst the papers on his desk rustled. Sounds drifted up from downstairs, his father milling about, getting ready for the day. It was those sounds that eased Stiles more than anything.

He dragged himself from his bed and glanced down, taking in yesterday's shirt and jeans. But before he could question it, the sound of the front door closing had his head snapping up and his gaze snapping toward his window, brow burrowing and lips twisting into a frown. Given his exhaustion as of late, and the blackouts and sleepwalking, he could think of a dozen possible explanations for his clothes and apparent memory lapse – and they all led back to the Nemeton. But his dad leaving for work without a word? That was the thing that struck him as the most unusual.

"'the hell, Dad?" he questioned the air, making his way toward the window in time to watch his father pull away from the house. His gaze never left the car until it finally turned at the end of the street and disappeared from view, leaving Stiles alone with his thoughts.

It must have been the case. They must have had a breakthrough. It was the only reason Stiles could think of to explain why his father hadn't come to drag him from his bed and plead with him to just get his ass to school already; or worse – give him that concerned look whilst asking if Stiles was sure he was okay. He hated that look. He hated being the reason that his father would wear that look, eyes lined with worry and shoulders slumped from the weight of it.

"I'm fine," he tried to lie, but the words caught in his throat and he swallowed them instead, forcing himself to turn away from the window and focus on getting ready for school.

He had barely even moved a foot when he heard the distant sound of his ringtone. The music was muffled and so quiet that he thought he'd imagined it at first, but the more he strained his ears, the surer he was that it was his cell. On instinct his hands went to his pockets, searching his jeans and finding nothing but lint and a spare piece of gum he had long since forgotten about. He widened his search, heading to his bed and patting down his bedcovers before dropping to his hands and knees to search the floor under discarded books and days old laundry. By then, the music had faded into silence and Stiles still hadn't found anything.

But the day could only get better, right? Things could only improve from there.

Except, that sort of luck just wouldn't fit into Stiles' life. That sort of luck was the type of thing you read in fairytales, the kind that had had the Disney treatment. If Stiles' life was a fairytale, it would be the good old-fashioned Brothers Grimm style, and even that was being generously optimistic.

As the morning continued on, it turned out his keys were missing along with his phone, and given that his father had locked the door, his only choice of exit was his bedroom window. That and the long walk to school had him slipping into first period late and without his books. He dropped into the seat beside Scott just as the coach looked up from the attendance sheet.

"Stilinski?" Coach called out, gaze roaming over the class and deliberately looking anywhere but at Stiles. "Anyone seen Stilinski?"

Stiles held up his hand in part acknowledgement and part apology, sitting up a little straighter but avoiding eye contact. "Yeah, sorry, Coach... Won't happen again."

But the coach said nothing, huffing out instead and scribbling on the attendance sheet before continuing on to read out the rest of the names on the list and giving Stiles the chance to lean across the gap between the desks to talk to Scott. At least it would have, if Scott hadn't been so distracted by the open notebook on his desk.

"Yo, Scott, what you got there?" Stiles tried, eyes narrowing on the movements of Scott's pen as the nib moved over and over the same spot on the paper. But whatever held Scott's attention, causing a crease in his brow, was hidden by his hand, and Stiles didn't have a chance to make it out before his attention was shook away from Scott and toward the loud bang as Coach dropped a large book onto his desk at the front.

"Alright then you lot, time to quieten down!" Coach called out. He turned toward the blackboard and grabbed a piece of chalk, scrawling across the board with it as he continued to speak. "Believe it or not, you're here to learn, not for gossiping and playing about with your blueberries and eye-phones. So listen up..."

The rest of his words washed over Stiles and with Coach's attention now focused on the board, Stiles took the opportunity to focus his attention on Scott. His best friend had yet to raise his eyes from whatever he was drawing on the paper, a mixture of concentration and anxiety playing across his features. It looked like Stiles wasn't the only one who had had a rough morning, and the longer the silence was drawn out, the more worried he became. "Scott... Scotty. You okay, man? You don't look so good."

Grip tightening on his pen, Scott bowed his head and let go of a sigh, a single name slipping out also, almost like a plea."Stiles..."

But before he could say anything further, Coach's voice had both Stiles' and Scott's heads snapping up toward the blackboard. "You got something to add, McCall?"

Immediately, Scott straightened in his seat, pen falling from his grasp. He cleared his throat, shaking his head as he did so. "No, Coach... sorry."

Stiles let out a breath and leaned back in his own seat, glancing briefly between his best friend and the coach. Great, so the coach was in one of those moods, which meant that Stiles would have to wait until after to class to find out what had Scott so distracted.

"No?" Coach continued, his fingertips resting against his desk as he leaned forward, eyebrows raised and eyes wide and focused on Scott. "Then maybe you'll feel like joining the rest of us here in reality and trying opening your book to the same page that everyone else is already on."

That sent Scott fumbling about with the book on the corner of his desk, leaving his notebook uncovered enough to reveal what he had been drawing, but before Stiles could get a good look at it, it was covered again by Scott's book. "Yeah, Coach..." Scott mumbled. "Sorry."

"And stop apologising, McCall... Or I swear to God I'll... I'll... I don't know what exactly, but I swear to God I'll do it. Now read."

"Uh, Coach," Stiles spoke up, the palm of his hand thumping lightly against his desk before rising in an attempt to catch the coach's attention before he turned away again, "I left my book in my locker..."

Nothing. Coach didn't even turn back to look at him.

"I guess I could learn without it..."

Still nothing.

"Or maybe I could be excused for just a moment to-"

A low beep cut through his thoughts, causing him to stall. It drowned out his words and seemed to echo around his mind, giving him pause. He glanced about him, taking in the downturned heads all focused on the books on the desks, no one reacting as another beep echoed through the air.

"Scott... you hear that?" he tried, but even Scott was oblivious to the repeated sound.

Another beep, followed by something else... the familiar sound of his cell. But that was impossible. That just... that wasn't possible.

"Scott... Buddy?"

No answer, just another beep breaking through the distant sound of his cell ringing.

He pushed up, his seat scraping and clattering against the floor in his hurry to be standing. Still no one reacted. No one reacted to the beeping, or the sound of his chair. No one reacted to him.

He was moving before the thought to do so had fully formed in his mind. He just had to get out of there. He couldn't think, he couldn't focus, he couldn't breathe... His heart quickened in his chest, nervous energy taking over him. Stumbling forwards, he forced his legs to move toward the door.

Another beep, barely audible now beneath the continuous sound of his cell. It seemed to grow louder the closer he got to the door, despite it still sounding distant, and by the time he ripped the door open, the metal of the handle cold against his fingers, it was all he could hear. Legs unsteady and shaky, he pushed himself out into the hall, tripping over thin air repeatedly, his chest tightening, as if a pressure had wrapped itself around him and was smothering him, like the darkness in his earlier nightmare, gripping him tight... drowning him in nothingness.

Then it was gone.

Silence buzzed around him before finally being broken by a small and questioning, "Stiles?"

He span on the spot, finding himself facing Lydia, confusion written across her face as she pulled her cell away from her ear.

"Ly-Lydia?" Stiles questioned, sounding and feeling very much like he had just finished running a marathon. "Wha-what are you doing here?"

"Stiles, are you okay?" She took a step closer, reaching out a hand, but before she could touch him, he pulled back without thinking, unsure.

He shook his head, gaze darting about the hallway, thoughts cloudy and thick. Something was wrong, something felt off, but it wasn't in the usual way. It was different somehow, and he didn't know if that made it better or worse. "I don't... I don't know. I... I..."

"Stiles...? Stiles, breathe. Just breathe, okay?" Lydia instructed, stepping to the side enough so that she was once again in his line of vision, and taking a deep breath, motioning with her hands for Stiles to do the same.

He found himself complying without thinking, holding his breath until Lydia let go of hers, nodding as she did so. Almost immediately he could feel the effect and after another deep breath, even his heart didn't feel so erratic. His gaze was still focused on Lydia, his lungs breathing in once more in time with her, when she reached out again, this time managing to lay her hand against his arm without him flinching away, her skin warm against his.

She frowned, her grip finding more purchase. "God, Stiles – you're freezing."

Stiles was still too lost in his thoughts to reply, and it wasn't until he heard Scott's voice that he found himself beginning to truly regain some form of grip, some fragile and barely existent grip, on reality.

"Lydia?" Scott questioned, and Stiles turned enough to see his friend close the classroom door behind him, entering the hallway.

"Scott, thank God," Stiles started, taking a step toward Scott, "I am seriously freaking out here, man. I swear, I don't know if I'm coming or if I'm... Scott, are you listening to me?"

Because if he was, he had a funny way of showing it, his attention on Lydia, his brow burrowed and eyes narrowed at her. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Bathroom break," she answered dismissively, waving off the question, but judging by the cell she now slipped away into her bag, Stiles knew that wasn't the real reason. Scott wasn't buying the response either, staring on in silence before Lydia finally continued on, lips thinned and smile tight. "Okay, fine... It's happening again. I've been hearing... noises, and it is driving me crazy."

"Noises? Like what?" Stiles jumped in, grabbing the opportunity to forget about his own mental instabilities for just a moment, and gladly pushing away thoughts of the noises he himself had been hearing.

"I don't know." Shaking her head minutely, she looked between Scott and Stiles. "I just don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know, Stiles. There's not exactly a guidebook, you know?"

It was Scott who spoke next, his words sounding strange and distant, his tone alien and not like Scott at all. "Lydia, who are you talking to?"

She narrowed her eyes, clearly confused by the question. That made two of them, Stiles was equally bewildered.

"You said 'Stiles'..." Scott continued, as if that explained his train of thought at all.

"And?"

"Stiles isn't here, Lydia."

That sent Stiles' head spinning in a whole different way to before. The breath left him and his mouth worked soundlessly around words he couldn't quite put together. Lydia was fairing no better, her own silence stretching on.

"Last night... Stiles, he... He got hurt."

Stiles took another step forward and into the path of Scott's gaze. "Scott? Buddy? What are you talking about? I'm right here, Scott. I'm fine. Scott... tell her I'm fine. This... this isn't funny. I'm right _here_. Lydia... Tell him. Tell him I'm right here."

When Lydia spoke, her voice was small and fragile, barely even there. "You can't see him, can you?"

"See who?" Scott questioned.

"Stiles..."

"Lydia, I only see you..."

"Then why can_ I_ see him?" Lydia asked, a mounting worry to her tone, fear clear in her widening eyes. "Why can I see him and you can't?"

Cold washed over Stiles, the look in Scott's eyes sobering him and causing his shoulders to sag. He didn't want to see it. He didn't want to acknowledge the truth, but it was staring him in the face the way Scott hadn't done all morning. "Because you're a banshee..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Lydia, I think... I think I'm dead."

* * *

_More to come soon...  
_


	2. Chapter 2

******Shadows of Death**

_Summary: If the nightmares or recent deaths in town weren't enough, Stiles wakes up to find that he may actually be the latest victim of the newest serial killer to hit Beacon Hills. Stuck somewhere between life and death and with Lydia the only one who can see him, the gang have to work quickly before Stiles' temporary displacement becomes permanent.  
_

_Warning: Spoilers for pretty much all of season 3.  
_

_Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own the show or these characters. _

_A/N: Thank you for reading and for comments I've received so far. It means a lot to me. And now, because I don't want to keep anyone waiting, here's chapter 2...  
_

* * *

Chapter 2

They never returned to class. Instead, they ended up in a darkened room that stank of disinfectant, a room where that familiar beeping seemed to reverberate through the air louder and stronger than ever. Only this time, it wasn't just some disembodied noise with no source. This time, Stiles could see exactly where it was coming from and what it meant.

"That's it," Lydia said, her voice strained and eyes wide, gaze unmoving from what was ahead. "That's the sound I've been hearing."

Stiles said nothing. He just stared on, taking another step toward the source of the beeping. Even in the dim light, sunlight shut out by curtained windows, Stiles could see all too clearly the reason for Scott's distraction all morning. The shadowed figure lying motionless in the hospital bed, the heart monitor at his side, the tubes and wires and dried blood that settled in spots across pale skin. His hand moved to his shoulder, remembering the pain he had felt when he had woken up, and his eyes moved to the bandage that covered the shoulder of the shadowed figure.

"They found him last night," Scott explained, closing the door behind him and coming to stand beside Lydia at the foot of the bed. "I don't even know who, his dad never said."

"It doesn't make sense," Stiles breathed out, shaking his head in denial, his gaze fixed on his own closed eyes. How could he be standing there, staring down at himself? How could he be lying in a hospital bed and not even know how or why he was there?

"His dad, he said it looked like Stiles had been visiting the cemetery," Scott continued, and Stiles looked to him, taking in the way he clenched his hands, his arms held at his sides so perfectly still. There was anger and pain in his eyes, and Stiles could see – he could see everything, because he knew Scott, and he knew that this was Scott trying desperately to hold on. "What was he even doing there? Why would he go somewhere like that by himself?"

"I don't know..." Stiles answered, unable to come up with any form of explanation for actions he couldn't even remember.

"He shouldn't have been by himself. I should have been there. I should have been there with him... I should have protected him."

"Hey, Scott! Scott – this isn't your fault!" Stiles tried, not failing to miss the way Scott's nails dug into the flesh of his palms. "You know that, right? Lydia, tell him, please... You have to tell him."

Lydia worked her throat, but it was another moment before she managed to find her voice again, tearing her gaze away from the figure in the bed to look at Scott instead. "Scott," she started, "Stiles, he says it's not your fault. He doesn't want you blaming yourself."

Scott's gaze turned to Lydia, his own words urgent and desperate. "Can you really see him?"

She nodded meekly, waving a hand helplessly in the direction of Stiles. "He's right here."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, bro," Stiles added, more than a little exasperated at the whole situation. "You just can't see me..."

"Or hear you," Lydia pointed out, which was really great for her to do so because it wasn't like Stiles hadn't already noticed that.

"Yes, thank you, Lydia," he snapped before letting go of a huff and running his hands through his hair. "It's like first grade all over again."

Scott, of course, just stared on, clueless and completely in the dark, but focused. "Lydia, you have to ask him what happened. You have to ask him who did this to him."

"I can hear you just fine," Stiles found himself saying, knowing full well that the words would go unheard by Scott, which just made it all the harder. Knowing his words weren't even a whisper to Scott, it was like an extra weight upon his shoulders, causing them to slump just that little bit more. "Not that it makes a difference."

"Stiles..." Lydia spoke softly, pulling him from his thoughts enough to glance toward her, but whilst it was meant as a comforting gesture, it did little to soothe him.

"Why haven't I woken up?" he asked, gaze moving back down once more to the figure of himself, unconscious and unmoving. "I'm standing right here, Lydia, so why can't I wake up, and why can't I remember?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, and when Stiles looked at her, he could see the lost look in her eyes. He was sure it reflected the look in his own eyes, but he wouldn't admit so out loud. If he did, that would mean admitting to the fear he also saw when he looked at Lydia – the fear of not knowing mixed with the fear of knowing too much. After all, despite the beeping of the machines and the rise and fall of his chest, Lydia was still the only person who could see him and considering everything, that put him a step or two closer to death than he would have liked.

His hand moved up to his shoulder and he remembered the pain once more, the pain that was now nothing more than a dull ache. It was all connected. The pain. The attack. The inability to wake up. He could feel it. It was all linked somehow, but every time he felt like he almost had it or was at least moving in the right direction, every time he felt he was starting to figure _something_ out, he hit a wall.

"Lydia?" Scott questioned, because he didn't know. He couldn't see what Lydia was seeing; he couldn't hear what she could. He looked as helpless as Stiles felt, and Stiles hated that he couldn't reassure him.

"He's scared," Lydia answered, and that had Stiles' attention snapping right back to her.

He groaned. Of all the things she could have told Scott, that was what she chose to relay?

"He can't remember what happened, and he doesn't know how he's supposed to wake up."

It was Scott who spoke next, his words filling with determination, and Stiles recognised that look of resolve in his eyes. When Scott made up his mind about something, there was no changing it. He was generally stubborn that way. "Stiles, we're gonna fix this – I swear. We're going to find a way to fix this."

And Stiles found himself allowing a small smile despite the heavy weight in his chest. He wanted to believe it, and maybe if he stopped thinking so hard, maybe then he could. But at least he knew Scott believed it, and Scott so often had belief enough for the both of them. Scott _'I'll find a way'_ McCall.

The door creaked open, spilling light into the room momentarily before it was closed again, Mrs McCall now standing where there had been only empty space before. She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest as she looked between Scott and Lydia, but it was another moment before she spoke, almost as if she had been giving them a chance to explain themselves before she had to ask.

"Shouldn't you two be in school?" she said when neither of them offered anything up.

Lydia said nothing, and Scott decided it was best to change the topic completely rather that broach the subject of school and skipping out on it. "How's he doing, Mom?"

"Again, standing right here, dude..." Stiles breathed out, though he had to admit that he too wanted an answer to that particular question. He felt fine, and yet clearly, he was anything but.

Mrs McCall shook her head in exasperation but moved forward to lay a hand against Scott's arm, giving a light squeeze. "I know you're worried, sweetie, but the best thing you can do for Stiles right now is to stay hopeful."

"No, the best thing you can do for Stiles right now," Stiles answered in return, "is figure out how to wake Stiles up."

That was when Lydia cut in, head tilted slightly to the side and eyes darting side to side in thought before finally settling on Mrs McCall. "Hypothetically speaking, if a person knew they were in a coma, how could they go about trying to wake themselves up? Is it possible?"

Mrs McCall stayed silent for a breath, turning the question over, before answering with one of her own. "Are you asking me if I think Stiles can hear us?"

"Oh, I know he can hear us."

To that, Mrs McCall smiled, small and soft. "I'm sure he can."

"No, Mom," Scott said, taking over where Lydia had left off, "you don't understand. Stiles, he's here, right now."

It took a moment to register, but when it did Mrs McCall's eyes narrowed and she looked back toward the door briefly, as if checking it was still closed and therefore no one would hear them, before leaning forward and lowering her voice. "Are you saying Stiles is..."

"Here?" Lydia questioned when Mrs McCall seemed to struggle with finding the right words. She offered up a tight-lipped smile and a minute nod of her head in answer.

"Lydia's the only one who can see him," Scott continued, and already Stiles could see further questions forming on Mrs McCall's lips, but Scott cut her off before she could ask them out loud. "It's a long story." He breathed out and looked Lydia up and down briefly before turning back to him mom. "A _really_ long story."

"Okay," was Mrs McCall's response, "And Stiles is..."

"Wanting desperately to wake up now," Stiles whined, raising his arms in desperation, all to no avail.

"He doesn't remember anything, Mom."

"Maybe that's it," Lydia spoke up, her back straightening, shoulders going down. It was like watching a light bulb going off above her head, the way her eyes lit up, the way her mouth twitched at the corner. "Maybe if we can get him to remember, then he'll wake up."

"You really think that would work?" Scott sounded hopeful, and Stiles wished his energy and optimism was contagious because he felt the opposite.

"Why not? It has to at least be worth a try."

"Only one problem," Stiles said, his words as lethargic as he felt, "how am I supposed to remember?"

"Simple," Lydia continued on undeterred, "we go to the cemetery, retrace your steps."

"And if it doesn't work? What then?"

"Not helping, Stiles!" she warned, and when she looked to him, he could tell she was daring him to say anything further. He would have argued, except he knew she was probably right. It was the only idea any of them had come up with so far, and therefore it was also the best idea.

"Well, okay..." Mrs McCall said, her tone hushed and aimed at Scott. "This is kind of... unusual?"

"You have no idea," Scott breathed out in reply.

Lydia ignored them both and composed herself, straightening her jacket and handbag. She was at the door before she spoke again, her tone sharp and demanding. "Well, is anyone coming?"

Mrs McCall held her hands up and ushered Scott towards the door. "Go. Go... Do what you need to do. Wake Stiles up..."

Scott was moving immediately and was already at the door beside Lydia before Stiles had barely managed to take two steps away from the bed. He made it another two steps before he came to a standstill, freezing in place. A shiver ran through him and the scent of dirt and blood filled his senses. For a moment he felt like he was back in the nightmare, darkness pressing in around him. He could practically feel the shadows breathing down his neck, watching him with unblinking eyes. They whispered to him, harsh and distorted, words barely even audible, like a broken radio turned down low and not quite tuned in right.

He swallowed hard, his heart speeding up inside his chest.

_"Wake. Up_," they demanded, a growl etched into the words.

It had Stiles going cold, a strange iciness slipping in and gripping him tight, but what had him truly on edge was the proximity. The words had been a breath in his ear from a presence he could still feel against his back. It was fear that had Stiles unable to move forward and it was a twisted curiosity and need for knowing that had him turning his head to the side, movements slow and jerky, almost not daring to look and yet unable to stop himself.

"Stiles!"

The cold vanished and when Stiles snapped his gaze back to Lydia at the doorway, the shadows seemed to recede, the room becoming just that little less dark. He didn't answer the unasked question he could see forming at the tip of her tongue, and when he reached the doorway, he didn't look back. Sometimes it was best not to look darkness in the eye, and sometimes it was easier to fool yourself into believing it was just your imagination – just so long as you didn't stare too long.

It was just a side-effect. That was all it was. Nothing more.

But no matter how much he tried to convince himself of such, he could feel it in his chest, weighing heavy on his heart. He was leaving more than just his body in the shadows of that room.

* * *

_More to come soon...  
_


	3. Chapter 3

******Shadows of Death**

_Summary: If the nightmares or recent deaths in town weren't enough, Stiles wakes up to find that he may actually be the latest victim of the newest serial killer to hit Beacon Hills. Stuck somewhere between life and death and with Lydia the only one who can see him, the gang have to work quickly before Stiles' temporary displacement becomes permanent.  
_

_Warning: Spoilers for pretty much all of season 3.  
_

_Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own the show or these characters. _

_A/N:Thank you for all the comments so far and the support for this fic ^_^ I am so sorry about the delay in posting this. Life has been hectic and work has been keeping me uber busy and tired. I'll try and get the next chapter up around the same time next week, but it'll probably be more like next weekend. Thanks for reading!  
_

* * *

Chapter 3

In the last three weeks, there had been three seemingly unrelated deaths that stuck out in Stiles' mind. Considering everything else that had been going on, from frighteningly realistic nightmares to freaking were-coyotes, Stiles hadn't really paid much attention to them, but he had paid attention to his dad. He remembered seeing the case files on his father's desk at work, mixed with the other overflowing and unsolved cases from the past, and he remembered more pages floating around the dinner table at home. His dad hadn't spoken much about them, but from what Stiles had learned, his father believed the deaths were linked.

After all, three was a pattern, right?

Except, it wasn't just three anymore. From what Stiles had discovered so far from Scott, on the ride to the town's cemetery, it seemed that Stiles' dad believed the attempt on Stiles' life made four. That explained the presence of the two officers at the hospital who had given Scott and Lydia curious and suspicious glances when they had initially made to enter Stiles' room. It also meant that the trip to the cemetery was about more than just attempting to retrieve Stiles' memory or kick-start his brain into waking. It was about finding clues the police may have missed that would lead them to the killer – a serial killer if his dad was right.

As for the attack itself: knife wound, to the left shoulder. That's what Scott had said. He'd also mentioned something about other superficial injuries that had mostly likely come from Stiles attempting to defend himself. Then there was the knock to the head which the doctors were using to explain the coma. Lydia wasn't convinced, and if Stiles was honest, he agreed with her.

Just as there had been something in that room telling him to wake up, there was something else stopping him from doing so and he wasn't so sure it was just his injuries.

"So this is it?" Stiles questioned, spinning on the spot and searching his surroundings.

The cemetery was quiet, the air still around them. Nothing looked untoward at first, everything as you would expect in a cemetery, until Stiles looked closer and saw the stained grass beneath his feet. He swallowed hard and took a step back, away from it.

Blood.

Scott had tracked the scent of it to this location, a shaded spot toward the back of the cemetery where the gravestones had become somewhat unattended and the large oak tree had grown tall enough to put all three of them in shadow despite them still being a few feet from it. Stiles didn't need Scott to tell him it was his blood. He knew without his friend having to say a word, just as he knew Lydia did. He could see it on her face and by the way she hugged herself. Whatever had happened here, she could feel it.

Stiles could too. He could feel a faint sense of panic and fear, feel his heart responding to it in his chest, speeding up for no apparent reason. He just couldn't remember it. The only memories Stiles had of the place were from times in the past, the place as familiar to him as Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital was.

"Do you hear that?" Lydia asked, her gaze searching both Scott's and Stiles' faces.

"What?" Scott questioned, taking a step forward, head tilting to the side just ever so slightly in a way that told Stiles he was straining his ears in an attempt to hear. "What is it?"

Lydia shook her head, her gaze drifting down and brow burrowing in concentration. Slowly, she unfolded her arms from around her and lowered herself down to the ground. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she moved her head to the side and continued to lower herself until her ear was almost touching the grass. She said nothing at first, but when her gaze met Stiles' he could see the realisation lighting up behind her eyes.

She lifted her head and searched the grass with her gaze, her fingers running over it until they came to a loose tuft. When she started inching forward, Stiles began to see where this was going and had already spotted the indent in the ground just ahead of her.

"He was dragged," she explained, and by now she was on her feet, moving more swiftly, gaze and legs following the occasional uprooted tuft of grass and long but narrow patches of dirt that could only be drag marks.

Scott and Stiles followed in silence until she finally came to a stop at a small grave with a plain headstone that was a sharp contrast to the extravagant arrangement of flowers that stood in front of it. An assortment of white to pale pink flowers mixed in with plain green foliage. Stiles recognised the work, the bouquet a less expensive but still beautiful version of the one he had left at his mom's grave mere days before.

"They're fresh," Lydia pointed out, dropping down to her haunches beside the grave to take a closer look. She lifted the vase up delicately and moved it just enough to reveal the name on the grave. Her shoulders seemed to sag at the sight of what she saw and she let go of heavy breath that suggested recognition. When she read the last name out loud, Stiles began to understand why. "Tate..."

"Tate?" Scott questioned, but there was little uncertainty to his tone, suggesting he already knew what had just crossed Stiles' mind. "As in, Malia Tate?"

"Yeah," Stiles answered, lowering himself beside Lydia to stare at the grave and the name written there. "It's her sister's grave..."

"Malia's father must have left them," Scott continued, and for a moment he sounded hopeful. Stiles knew why without needing to ask. He knew Scott well enough to understand where his line of thought was going. If Tate had been there, then he might have seen something – he might know who had attacked Stiles. Except...

Stiles shook his head, his gaze lingering on the flowers. "It wasn't Tate."

"Then who was it?" Lydia asked, looking to him with a questioning tilt of the head.

"Me..." He reached out a hand to touch the large white lily at the front of the bouquet but dropped it away at the last moment to tap against his thigh instead. The bits and pieces that slowly began to surface were fragmented, more like feelings than whole memories with full on visuals and top of the range surround sound.

He remembered a twisting in his stomach, sorrow and guilt over what had happened with Malia and his taking the doll from the car wreck. He remembered the faint scent of the lilies of the bouquet when he was driving, the warm breeze from the open window causing the scent to spread through his jeep. He remembered night slipping in and chilling him when he placed the flowers at the grave... and then he remembered pain. Pain, and darkness, and hands grabbing at him, covering his mouth and stifling his calls for help, pulling him away.

His gaze drifted back toward the way they had approached from, back toward the oak tree. He tried to remember specifics. A face. A body shape. The colour of his attacker's hair. Anything. But it was all muddy from there. His memories were tinged in darkness, muted by it. It was like remembering a nightmare that had had time to fade upon waking, the details blurry but the fear still there. The pain too.

"I was here," he began, pushing up and pointing to the ground as he spoke, "and I remember hearing footsteps but I... gah, I just – it's not clear enough." His hand went to the back of his head and he swore he could feel a small lump there that felt tender when he touched it. "I think he must have hit me..."

"He?" Lydia questioned, watching Stiles carefully as Scott watched her.

"Well, you know, statistically speaking..." Stiles answered with a shrug, "And then there's the power... the grip – I mean, this guy was strong... Really strong."

"Are we talking bodybuilder on steroids strong or mythical creature that's not so mythical after all strong?"

"Are you saying it was a werewolf?" Scott chimed in, the implication of Lydia's words not lost on him. He took a step forward, his eyes darting between Lydia and the oak tree turned crime scene. "A werewolf attacked Stiles?"

"I don't know," Stiles answered, arms going up in the air in exasperation. "I just remember being pulled along and I remember trying to fight back. I think maybe I caught him, or something on him..." He looked down at his hand, remembering the sharp bite of cool metal against his skin, but the exact nature still eluded him. "Maybe a necklace or something?"

"Good! Good!" Lydia said, bouncing forward toward him. "That's got to be important, right?" She swung to look at Scott, all wide-eyed and hopeful. "If the attacker was wearing a necklace, then maybe it means something, right? Anyone?"

Scott's brow burrowed, his hand going into his pocket as he spoke. "Stiles' dad said they found a necklace. He said Stiles must have pulled it off the guy." He pulled his phone out and looked down to it, his fingers working quickly until they finally came to a stop. He turned the phone around, revealing a picture of a small golden necklace in an evidence bag. "He wanted to know if it meant anything, you know... _unusual_? I was going to show it to Deaton after school."

Stiles took a step forward, squinting at the phone and the picture there. "What is that? A cross?"

"It's an ankh," Lydia answered.

_Of course,_ Stiles thought to himself. It was hard to see in the picture, but if he looked closely enough, he could see the loop at the top of what looked like just a regular cross on first inspection.

Scott turned the phone back around to look down at the picture, gaze narrowed in questioning at it. "What's an ankh?"

"It's the ancient Egyptian symbol for life," Stiles breathed out, forgetting, not for the first time, that Scott was still completely oblivious to every word he said. It shouldn't have been an easy thing to forget, but he found himself doing so anyway.

"It means life," Lydia repeated for Scott, the words airy and her eyes distant, her mind half with them and half on something else, as if she was attempting to figure out two separate but related puzzles. Stiles knew how that felt.

Things had a way of connecting. Matt and the Kanima. The Alpha pack and the Darach. The coyote and the car wreck. And now this. Out of everything, the symbol on the necklace was an ankh. There was too much irony in it for it to be a coincidence. A serial killer who wore a symbol for life, who chose to attack Stiles in a graveyard with only the dead to watch on. Well, the dead and his mysterious saviour – another lead they would have to get around to looking at. It might not help in waking Stiles up, but if it would put them a step closer to finding the killer then Stiles would take it.

"Hey! You two!" a voice shouted from behind, breaking Stiles from his thoughts and causing all three of them to turn to look at the owner as he approached. "You shouldn't be here."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at the man. He was about the same age as the Sheriff, only his hair was thinner around the top of his skull, but that was the only thing that gave away his aging, the rest of him was lean and muscular, the body of someone whose job involved physical labour. Stiles didn't recognise his face, but there was something about his voice that sounded familiar, even if Stiles couldn't place it.

Lydia looked him over with a mixture of curiosity and distaste lining her features, never one to be told where she should or should not be. "And you are?"

"Working," the guy snapped at her, pulling off a pair of thick gloves before dusting away dried dirt from his trousers. "You two need to leave. We've already had one dumb kid get himself hurt around here."

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, head moving forward as he stared at the guy incredulously and more than a little insulted, but it took a moment for him to find his words as his gaze wandered over Scott and Lydia. "Is he talking about me?" he questioned, before looking back to the man once more. "Are you talking about me?"

Of course, there was no reply. Why would there be? He was nothing more than a ghost in a graveyard.

"We were just leaving," Scott said in reply to the man's hard stare, his hands going up in the universal sign for 'we mean no harm'. "Weren't we, Lydia?"

Lydia pursed her lips and looked the man over once more. "Sure," she answered, clipped and biting, not the least bit impressed.

"Right," Scott added, with a nod, making a motion of pointing toward the exit, "then we'll be going now..."

He was the first to move, Lydia following closely at his heel. Stiles hung back for a moment longer to look the man up and down, studying him, before finally catching up with the others. The whole time, the man never took his eyes off of them, not until they were finally out of sight and in the clear. It set Stiles on edge, something about the guy bothering him, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

He waited until they had cleared the gates before he spoke again, glancing back briefly as he did so. "Did that guy seem suspicious to anyone? I mean, aside from the creepy behaviour and weird glaring eyes?"

Lydia stopped just short of her car and Stiles noticed she was shivering slightly, even though the air was still warm. She bit at her lip and looked back at the gates of the cemetery, gaze searching. She said nothing in regards to his question.

"You okay, Lydia?" Stiles questioned, placing a hand on her shoulder and attempting to catch her eye.

It was another breath before she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Yeah," she answered with a short nod and forced smile, "I'm fine."

The lie was as clear in her tone as it was in her eyes, and Stiles found himself looking back toward the cemetery once more in hopes of seeing whatever had spooked her, but it looked no different to before. "You felt something, didn't you?" he questioned.

"Death," she breathed out, the word a broken whisper. "He felt like death."

Scott came to a stop next to the passenger side of the car and looked to her. "Who?"

But Lydia didn't respond. She was still staring back at the cemetery, her arms moving up to hug at her chest once more, as if she was trying to protect herself from something.

"We should go," was all she said, and Stiles couldn't agree more.

There was nothing else for them there, nothing but shifting shadows created by the sun and the clouds overhead, and half-formed memories that Stiles struggled to hold onto. If they wanted answers they were going to have to get help. Of course, it would help if they even knew what questions they were supposed to be asking in the first place. But things were never that easy.

* * *

_More to come soon...  
_


	4. Chapter 4

******Shadows of Death**

_Summary: If the nightmares or recent deaths in town weren't enough, Stiles wakes up to find that he may actually be the latest victim of the newest serial killer to hit Beacon Hills. Stuck somewhere between life and death and with Lydia the only one who can see him, the gang have to work quickly before Stiles' temporary displacement becomes permanent.  
_

_Warning: Spoilers for pretty much all of season 3.  
_

_Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own the show or these characters. _

_A/N: I'm late... and I'm so sorry about that. Work has kept me exhausted and so I haven't had the time to work on this that I've wanted, so it took me longer to get this chapter done than I would have liked. Thank you so much for reading and for the comments I've received. Hopefully my next update won't take me so long... considering the mini cliffhanger with this chapter, it would be cruel to keep you waiting.  
_

_I never did really give a more accurate timeline for this, but I guess you could say it would take place between 3x14 and 3x15 even though it has spoilers for later on.  
_

* * *

Chapter 4

"Who would want to hurt Stiles?"

The question was asked by Allison. After the field trip to the cemetery, they had returned to the school to be greeted by an interrogation from Allison and Isaac. Where had they been all day? Why hadn't they been in class? What did they mean Stiles was attacked last night? And now this...

For the most part, Scott and Lydia were able to answer what was asked of them, filling in both Allison and Isaac on everything that had happened. As much as they could anyway. Stiles stood off to the side, barely listening to the conversation going on behind him. His gaze focused ahead on the Sheriff's car parked up at the front of the school. He had seen his dad leave it what must have been ten minutes or so ago to enter the school, and he hadn't seen him return.

Three mysterious deaths and now a linked attack? They were putting a curfew in place; Stiles was certain.

"We don't know," Lydia answered, the words washing over Stiles and falling away to background noise as he thought about the look he had seen on his dad's face.

His father had a great way of masking his feelings. He had a great way of shutting everything away and doing what was expected of him, because he was the sheriff, he had responsibilities. He would push on, he would fool the world, but he couldn't fool Stiles. When Stiles' mom had been sick, his dad had stayed strong until he thought no one could see, and when she died... Stiles remembered seeing the exact same look on his face as he had seen just.

He wished he could talk to him and tell him it would be fine, but there were certain things Stiles couldn't lie to his dad about. He wanted to believe they would figure it out, that they would catch the killer, save the day, and wake Stiles up, but his heart felt heavy in his chest and dark thoughts whispered at the back of his mind, telling him their luck could only run so far. They were just a bunch of teenagers, and maybe this time it wouldn't be fine.

"Stiles... Stiles!" Lydia's voice pulled his attention away from the entrance to the school and back toward the small group instead.

He blinked and shook his head to clear his thoughts, eyes wandering over each of the group before settling on Lydia. "Yeah?"

The look on Lydia's face was one of exasperation, and with thinned lips, she shook her head at him. "You didn't hear a word of that, did you?"

"I may have missed something... somewhere..." he admitted a little sheepishly, his hand going up to scratch at his neck just behind his ear.

Scott looked between Lydia and the empty space that Stiles wasn't occupying about a foot to the left, whilst Allison and Isaac just stared on with wide eyes and slightly confused expressions. Stiles sighed and gave one last glance toward the entrance to the school before returning his attention fully to the conversation at hand.

"So Stiles is really..." Allison began when the silence stretched on.

"Yes," Stiles and Lydia answered in unison.

"Well it could be worse," Isaac offered, which earned him a glare from Stiles, "at least he's not an _actual_ ghost, 'cause then that would mean he's... dead."

The breath of silence that followed was the awkward kind that had Isaac swallowing visibly, a brief tension cutting into the air at the taboo declaration.

"We're gonna save him," Scott assured in the way he always did, the way that made you want to believe to.

Allison seemed convinced, her back straightening as she bobbed her head in agreement. "Yeah, of course we will."

"And just how do we plan to do that?" Isaac questioned, but as plain and neutral as the words were, Stiles could hear the doubt that lined them loud and clear.

"I hate to be on the same page as Mr Joy and Optimism here," Stiles added, "but we're not exactly drowning in leads here, guys."

"The creepy guy at the graveyard," Lydia suggested immediately, all pep and spark, determined and unwavering. If what she had felt back at the cemetery was still affecting her, she didn't let it show.

"What guy?" Isaac looked between Scott and Lydia with narrowed eyes.

Scott was the one to answer. "There was a guy at the graveyard, he kind of told us to get out. I think he works there."

"You mean Mickey?" Isaac asked with a familiarity to his tone.

"Mickey?"

"Yeah, he used to work with my father until about half a year ago... Family emergency or something. But I heard he came back to town about a month back and went straight back to working the graves."

"You know him?"

"He was kind of an ass, but my dad always said he was a hard worker."

"And he came back a month ago?" Stiles questioned, looking to Isaac and then Lydia, hoping she would catch onto his train of thoughts. "The case my dad is working on, the first body turned up three weeks ago..."

"It could be a coincidence," she answered, but the reply was weak and Stiles could tell she wasn't convinced of it.

"You said so yourself, Lydia, the guy felt like death. That doesn't seem strange to you?"

"Lydia?" Scott questioned, and it must have been so awkward for him, Stiles thought, only getting to hear half of the conversation – like listening in on a phone call and desperately straining your ears to hear the person on the other end of the line but coming up empty.

"The murders – the first one happened three weeks ago, about the same time our new friend came back to town," Lydia explained.

Almost immediately the light went off behind Scott's eyes, understanding dawning, and he wasn't the only one. Allison and Isaac jumped on it immediately, Allison leaning forward a little and lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You think _he's_ the one who attacked Stiles?"

Lydia shrugged. "I don't know, maybe?"

"So what do we do?" Isaac started, and there was just something about his tone that told Stiles that what came next wasn't going to be the least bit helpful. "Go ask him if he's been killing random people since he got back to town?"

"Really? That's all you've got?" Stiles questioned, unable to keep from saying it even whilst knowing it would go unheard. "That's the best you can come up with?"

"We could follow him?" Allison suggested.

"Great," Lydia let go of a sigh, "let's go stalk the possibly psychotic gravedigger..."

"Actually," Isaac spoke up, "he's more of a gardener than a... never mind."

But once again, Stiles found his attention wavering. The conversation faded to almost a whisper beneath the low and constant buzzing that began to fill his ears, like the sound of speakers turned up high even though the music had long since stopped. He took a step away from the group, his gaze focusing ahead on the parking lot and the students that milled about it. They went about as if nothing was wrong, as if life was as it always was, as if there wasn't a figure standing there, stock still, half hidden by shadows, and staring straight at Stiles.

Cold flushed through Stiles and the empty buzzing continued, only now he could hear the occasional and familiar distant beep of a heart monitor. He took another step forward, head tilting to the side and frown finding its way onto his face, gaze glued to the figure that was still visible despite the shadows that crept over him. He was standing right there, and no one else so much as looked at him.

Something niggled at the back of Stiles' mind – it told him to stop, told him to turn away. It told him that there was a reason he felt so cold and numb when he looked at the figure, told him to look away before it was too late. But he couldn't, and the more he stared, the more he saw. Baggy combats, bulky jacket, and what looked like dirty bandages coiled around the figure's neck like a boa constrictor making a kill. The only thing Stiles couldn't see was the man's face.

Then the figure spoke, and when he did, it was with a raspy voice that sounded like it had been shouting and screaming unheard for decades, like all it had to offer now was a broken whisper, an almost silent hiss of a snake.

_"We're running out of time, Stiles,"_ the figure said, and Stiles heard clearly, despite the distance between them. He heard the words as clear and loud as if the figure had been no more than a foot away from him. _"He's coming for us..."_

His chest tightened, vision wavering. For the flash of an instant, the bright daylight and freshness of the outside vanished, replaced by the darkness of the hospital room. His head spun and as he struggled to catch his next breath, he found himself facing the school parking lot once more, the figure even closer than before, but still masked by shadows.

"Lydia..." Stiles tried to force out, but the name caught in his throat, much in the same way the heel of his foot caught against the sidewalk, causing him to stumble backwards. As he fell, his surroundings changed again, darkness interrupted by the opening of a door before consuming the room once more, footsteps echoing along with the continuous _beep... beep... beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Lydia!" he called out, stronger this time, the sound of the heart monitor and the image of the figure in the shadows the only constant between the two realities – between the bright and open school grounds and the dark and enclosed hospital room.

He felt a cold hand on his arm that vanished only when another grabbed his shoulder, anchoring him momentarily to the school and to the bright green of Lydia's eyes. "Stiles? Stiles... What's happening?"

"He's here," Stiles breathed out, feeling his panic rising, struggling to push himself up from the ground and failing.

Lydia swung her head from left to right and back again, searching the area around them. There was worry in her eyes and fear in her voice. "There's no one here, Stiles..."

"Lydia, I ca- I can't br- breathe..."

"It's okay, Stiles," she tried to soothe, her grip tightening on him, "there's no one here."

But Stiles could feel him. He could feel him the same way he could feel his heart growing more frantic in his chest, the same way he could hear the heart monitor responding to it, the beeping quickening, desperate, the world shifting around him with each blink of the eye. Darkness. Light. Darkness. Light. Shadows. Lydia. Hospital. School.

He was lost somewhere between the two when he heard Lydia's whispered words of realisation.

"He's at the hospital," she said, so quietly Stiles was surprised he'd heard at all beneath that damnable beeping. Then louder, stronger, she spoke again. "He's at the hospital..."

By the look in her eyes, Stiles knew she could hear the beeping as well. She was probably as deafened by it as he was. Her head lifted, her gaze going back to the group, voice demanding. "Why are you just standing there? We have to do something... We have to get to the hospital... He's there! He's after Stiles!"

Then it stopped.

The world stopped shifting. His vision stopped wavering, and he was no longer split between the hospital room and the school grounds, the former fading away and taking the darkness with it. The sun beat down on him, the light from it blinding behind the head of strawberry blonde hair that turned to look to him. Eyes damp, Lydia stopped calling to the others, the first tear slipping free to roll down her cheek.

"He's there..." she whispered, desperate and broken, and Stiles knew that meant she heard it too.

The beeping had stopped... except now it was replaced by a long and continuous tone that never wavered, never changed in pitch or sound. She heard it, just as he did, and they both knew exactly what it meant.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! Hopefully more soon...  
_


	5. Chapter 5

******Shadows of Death**

_Summary: If the nightmares or recent deaths in town weren't enough, Stiles wakes up to find that he may actually be the latest victim of the newest serial killer to hit Beacon Hills. Stuck somewhere between life and death and with Lydia the only one who can see him, the gang have to work quickly before Stiles' temporary displacement becomes permanent.  
_

_Warning: Spoilers for pretty much all of season 3.  
_

_Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own the show or these characters. _

_A/N: Thank you so much for reading and for your patience! You guys are awesome and it means a lot to me. I'm still trying to get my writing muscles back into shape after such a lax year last year and this chapter caused me so much trouble, but I finally finished it and here you go! Update time!  
_

* * *

Chapter 5

Stiles found himself pausing at the entrance to the hospital, suddenly afraid of what they would find when they passed the threshold. That deafening buzz and constant and endless tone had long since faded away, as if sealed off in a soundproof room, the door shut tight, the sounds locked away, but Stiles wasn't fool enough to believe that meant everything was fine again. He knew what he had heard, he and Lydia both did.

As if that wasn't enough, then there'd been the phone call from Mrs McCall. She had called Scott shortly after they had tumbled into Lydia's car, simply telling Scott to get to the hospital quick. He had told her that they were already on their way and that they would be there soon.

But not soon enough.

"We'll wait here," Allison said, breaking Stiles from his trance long enough to see her and Isaac hanging back, offering them a tiny sliver of privacy in the face of grave news.

Scott nodded in thanks and pushed on, and Lydia followed closely behind. She didn't have the option of hanging back. Whether she liked it or not, she was Stiles' only link to everyone else. She made herself small, practically hiding herself in Scott's shadow as if to hide herself from everyone else, as if maybe if she did so, no one would ask her why she was there or why her eyes were stained red from tears she was barely holding in.

Stiles said nothing. He just followed at a slower pace, all the while knowing that they were too late. He could feel it long before he saw the expression on Mrs McCall's face as she stood waiting for them at the nurse's station. Her eyes darted back and forth between one corridor and another, searching, until finally she saw them approaching.

"Scott, honey," Mrs McCall started, tone placating and calming. She took a step forward to greet them, arms wrapping around Scott and bringing him in close for a comforting embrace. When she pulled back, her hands still gripped his upper arms and her gaze searched Scott's. "I'm so sorry, honey..."

Heart sinking in his chest, Stiles allowed his attention to wander down the strangely vacant corridor. He couldn't see it all, but he could see enough – the open door that led to his hospital room, the shattered glass that littered the hall floor and was tainted red in parts, glittering from the dying sunlight that now streamed through the room and open doorway. He imagined inside the room to be worse. Overturned equipment, specks of blood here and there, sheets pulled from an empty bed.

When the first deputy stepped out of the room, he saw it all for what it was – a crime scene. That's why the corridor was empty, why Mrs McCall stopped Scott from going any further and why her voice was authoritative when she spoke again in the silence of Scott's missing reply.

"Scott, listen to me," she said, firm and unwavering, "you can't go there just yet. Do you understand? You have to let them do their work first..."

"It's Stiles, mom..." Scott answered, and he sounded so lost. All that confidence was drained away, his shoulders slumping, his gaze distant.

"I know," Mrs McCall went on. "Oh honey, I know – but you can't help him by getting yourself in trouble. We need to be smart about this, okay? They're doing all they can, and you have to let them, but in the meantime... you have something they don't. If anyone can find Stiles, Scott, you can."

"Find...?" Lydia questioned, head tilting to the side as her gaze found the corridor and the deputy that now stood just outside of Stiles' room.

Mrs McCall straightened at that, her hands falling away as her gaze swept over Lydia and Scott, her brow burrowing. "Someone _took_ Stiles... I thought you knew, I thought that was why you were already on your way. You thought..."

"I heard him die," Lydia breathed out, acknowledging it out loud for the first time. There was pain in her eyes when she said it and she swiped the back of her hand across her cheek to brush away a tear that had slipped free. She had heard it, they both had, but had they heard wrong?

"Stiles is alive?" Scott questioned, renewed hope echoing in his voice and lining his features as his gaze met his mom's.

"As far as anyone can tell, Stiles wasn't hurt..."

"Then whose blood is that?" Stiles questioned, moving forward a step down the corridor in hopes that would somehow clear everything up, as if he would suddenly see something that would mean everything made sense again. Of course, Mrs McCall didn't answer, not until Lydia spoke up.

"The blood..." was all she managed before she silenced herself again, the words seemingly catching in her throat.

Mrs McCall cast a brief glance down the hall before turning back to them. "The deputy on watch, he was attacked. He's still in the OR so no one's really sure what happened yet. No one saw anything, and even the cameras didn't pick anything up – they just went off mysteriously and haven't come back on since. Whoever did this went to a lot of trouble not to get caught."

"And now they have Stiles..." Scott said, and Stiles could see his mind turning. He could see the thoughts forming behind Scott's eyes, even if he couldn't quite make out what those thoughts were yet.

"Why?" Lydia jumped in, shaking her head a little in an attempt to make sense of it. "Why would they take Stiles?"

And that was the big question, wasn't it? That was the thing that Stiles couldn't figure out. He was certain that whoever had attacked and taken him from the hospital was the same person who had attacked him the night before. But why risk getting caught for that? Why not just finish Stiles? Surely it would have been easier to suffocate Stiles with a pillow and get out before anyone had a chance to notice anything was amiss. Unless they were missing something.

Stiles' hand found his shoulder and he once again tried to remember the attack. It was all still a disjointed blur, just a jumbled mess of half memories. The grave. The feeling of hands grabbing him, dragging him. The cold bite of metal against the skin of his palm. It meant something, he knew that much. He just didn't know what. The whole thing felt familiar, and the longer he stared at the empty corridor and the more he thought, the more he began to remember a time similar thoughts had crossed his mind.

All those people murdered by the Darach... the methods were different, but they had such a similar feel to them that it had Stiles wondering. Back then, Stiles had seen the murders for what they were, so what if it was the same this time? The three murders and his attack, there had to be some deeper meaning to them beyond random acts of violence. There was certainly enough about them to grab his dad's attention, to have his dad seeing a pattern there.

"Sacrifices..." he breathed out, tasting the word to see how it fit. It would explain why his attacker had taken him away from the hospital. The Darach had used the ley lines around Beacon Hills in conjunction with its sacrifices, so maybe his attacker needed something else too. If that was true, maybe it would buy them some time so they could save him.

"Sacrifices?" Lydia questioned, spinning on the spot to face him. "What do you mean 'sacrifices'?"

There was denial in the question, a refusal to accept the possibility, and considering how things had gone down last time, Stiles couldn't blame her. But he couldn't shut the idea out either.

"No, listen – it makes sense, right?" Stiles started, feeling the energy building up inside of him and bouncing through his metaphysical body as things started to slide into place. "Last night, I got attacked in the cemetery, but I think he was trying to take me some place else. What if it's the same for the other three? What if they were abducted from one place and killed in another?"

Scott looked between Lydia and the corridor, eyes still searching it as if he hoped he would suddenly be able to see Stiles, but he was always just slightly off. "What's he saying?" he questioned, gaze returning to Lydia.

"We need to find the pattern," Stiles said, taking a step closer to Lydia.

Lydia held his gaze, even though her next words were directed at Scott. "He thinks if we can find a pattern, we can find out where he is."

"A pattern?" Scott said, coming to stand beside Lydia, looking down on her with a mixture of concentration and confusion.

Lydia turned her head enough to consider him. "He thinks the other three murders were sacrifices... and now he's next."

"Scott, buddy..." Stiles pleaded, because he needed to say it, even if Scott couldn't hear him, "You know I'm right on this. You know I'm right..."

Slowly, Scott began to nod. "Then we need to look at the other cases. We could ask the Sheriff."

"No – no," Stiles said, shaking his head quickly from side to side, "My dad's still under investigation. If anyone sees him letting us look at case files... I can't be responsible for getting my dad fired. Not again."

"He says no," Lydia answered for him, slow and quiet, her gaze softening on him. "He won't risk it."

"We'll find a way," Scott interrupted, before she could go any further and explain. She didn't need to, Stiles could tell by the look in Scott's eyes that he understood. "We'll sneak in if we have to. We'll figure something out that won't get your dad in trouble."

"Whatever you plan on doing," Mrs McCall said, "you better do it soon. We don't know how much time Stiles has..."

Again, Scott nodded, his back straightening in a way that suggested he was taking control – he was being the Alpha. "Then we'll go to station now. If they've got people here and more out there looking for Stiles then maybe it'll be quiet, maybe we'll be able to get in and look at the files without anyone seeing us."

"Wait..." Stiles said, letting go of a deep sigh, arms rising up before falling to his sides again. "What about Mickey? He still might know something. Your mom's right – we're running out of time, and I have a feeling Lydia was right about him. We can't just dismiss him in the hopes we find something at the station."

"Mickey," Lydia forced out for Scott's benefit, her voice small and unsure, as if the very thought of the man was still enough to give her pause. "What if... what if he knows something?"

Scott glanced back toward the entrance to the hospital and took a breath. "Isaac and Allison can track him down and keep an eye on him."

"Great," was Lydia's falsely cheerful reply, her lips thinning into a forced smile.

"They'll be okay, Lydia," Scott tried to reassure her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "If Mickey is the one who hurt Stiles, they can handle him... I know they can."

"And what if he isn't?" Lydia went on to ask, meeting Scott's gaze dead on, challenging him. That was when Stiles realised that's what she was truly afraid of. If it wasn't Mickey, then that meant there was another reason he had felt like death to her. One psychotic serial killer would be enough to deal with without something else being thrown into the mix. "What if he's something else entirely?"

"Then we'll deal with it," Scott answered, confident but gentle. "Like we always do. But right now, we have to focus on finding Stiles. We have to save him."

Lydia closed her eyes and took a breath, composing herself. When her eyes opened again, she gave a firm nod and straightened her shoulders, looking between Scott and Stiles until her gaze settled on Scott. When she spoke, she spoke with certainty. "Then what are we waiting here for? Let's go find him."

* * *

_More soon!  
_


End file.
